Il Bugiardo e il Ladro
by LeiZ
Summary: Two assassins struggle to mend their strained relationship-all while trying to free Rome from the malevolent Cesare Borgia. Niccolò/La Volpe
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One  
**

Niccolò Machiavelli was a young man of 17 years old when he was first introduced to La Volpe. The legendary thief had made quite an impression on him. He noted, with fascination, the strange color of the older man's eyes, and the way he rolled his r's when he spoke; he had never met a thief who possessed such diction until he met La Volpe.

Above all, it was La Volpe's cunning ways that won Machiavelli over; here was a man who could saunter through the sparsest plazas in _Firenze_—in broad daylight, no less—without so much as leaving a footprint on the ground. Huntsmen would search for him in vain, that is, until La Volpe sought them first.

On the other hand, La Volpe was not as thrilled when he made his first acquaintance with Machiavelli. He found his attitude better suited for someone much older and more accomplished than he was; it was almost repulsive to see this young person carrying his ambitions on his sleeve everywhere he went. There were also times when Machiavelli shrouded himself in secrecy and ambiguity, even with his fellow assassins.

Fortunately, the Assassin Order celebrated the diversity among its members. Through gentle coaxing from their leader, both assassins looked past their differences and managed to carry out their missions to completion—together. It was through continued collaborative work that La Volpe learned to trust his young accomplice and treated him with equal respect as the other assassins. He could clearly see that Machiavelli had wisdom beyond his years and that he was destined to become a leader one day. In return, Machiavelli regarded him as an exemplar assassin; he would silently observe and learn from his mysterious accomplice through the coming years.

But those days of mutual admiration were long gone.

* * *

Rome, 1500

The midday sun was unbearable.

He paused in his tracks to look up towards the distant hill that overlooked the ruins of the city. There was still a lot of ground to cover before he could reach his destination. If he had travelled by horse, rather than by foot, he would have been there already. Unfortunately, due to the Borgia's unrelenting grip over Rome's resources, horses had become a rare commodity. Machiavelli wondered if he should have waited until sunset before travelling to the Thieves' Guild—or why the thieves had to flock to the far reaches of the _Antico_ District.

His arrival at the Thieves' Guild was met with the coldest of hospitalities: he noted some of the thieves huddled by the foot of the doorstep throwing him spiteful looks; others around him quietly scrutinized the Borgia-like colours he was wearing.

As a diplomat who has had considerable experience handling many unpleasant social affairs, it would take more than a few dirty looks to intimidate him.

One of the thieves broke away from the group to approach him; he looked about forty or so, sporting a scruffy beard, and a wool cap. Unlike the other members of his group, he was the least standoffish. Machiavelli wondered if he might have bumped into him before.

"How can I help you, _Maestro_ Machiavelli?" the thief asked.

"I want to speak with La Volpe."

"You just missed him—he left this morning. "

"Where to?"

"He did not say."

_Why must you make things difficult for me, La Volpe? _Machiavelli thought. To say that his trip was a waste of his time is an understatement. He had written to him before and never received any replies—either in writing or in person. Why he refused any communications with him was beyond his comprehension. His uncooperative behaviour was infuriating and further degraded what was left of their Brotherhood—at least Bartolomeo justified his absence at the hideout.

Machiavelli let out a tensed sigh. "When he returns, will you tell him to meet me at _Isola Tiberina_? We have very important things to discuss."

The thief nodded and walked back from his post. Having spent his only purpose for visiting, he glanced one last time at the decaying building—the Thieves' Guild—before turning around to begin his trek back to Isola Tiberina. He was already making his way down the hill when a young woman sprinted from behind him holding a flask. She wore the same outfit as the other thieves but he did not recall seeing her anywhere near the Guild.

"Please take this with you," she said, offering the flask to him. "It is a long way back to your destination on foot."

"_Grazie_," he said, accepting the gift wholeheartedly. "To whom do I owe such kindness?"

"My name is Elena. I am one of La Volpe's thieves."

Machiavelli thanked her again before heading out. He had forgotten to fill his own flask with fresh water before leaving the area. It was strange that this person had seemingly come out of nowhere just to replenish his supply; but he decided not to question his piece of good fortune.

Besides, who in their right mind would decline water in this scorching heat?

* * *

After a long day of meetings with persons of various backgrounds—cardinals, guards, diplomats, mercenaries, thieves, courtesans, and the like—Machiavelli finally returned to the island that became his new residence in Rome. Tonight will be a quiet one, as it always had been these past few weeks. Despite his efforts to unite the Brotherhood once more, not one assassin was present when he arrived at the hideout—accomplishing _nothing._ As he sauntered through empty and cavernous hall of the hideout, he wallowed without concession in his own failure as a leader.

Thankfully, he was not entirely alone that night. The _condottiero_, Fabio Orsini, greeted him by the fireplace. The sight of him invigorated Machiavelli's spirits. After all, it was Fabio who had granted him full use of the storage facility (now the assassins' hideout) that once belonged to his family—the noble Orsinis.

"I did not expect you to be here, Fabio. What can I do for you?" Machiavelli said, easing himself down on an armchair to rest his weary legs.

The heavily armoured man chuckled. "Do not worry about me, _amico mio. _You have a lot on your plate already." He moved to sit across from Machiavelli. "I merely wanted to know how you were doing."

Machiavelli slumped on his chair slightly, the fingers on his right hand gently resting on the side of his face. "I'm managing," he replied, stone-faced.

The Assassin Order had not been the same since Cesare Borgia seized Monteriggioni and killed the Italian assassins' leader—Mario Auditore—just weeks ago. Through earlier arrangements, the newly-vacated leadership role fell onto Machiavelli without contest (perhaps because no one else volunteered?). As a man of action, he was keen on becoming the head of the Assassin Order; he could lay out the plans and have them implemented as he saw fit. But with little or no support from his principal allies—Bartolomeo d'Alviano, leader of the Roman mercenaries; La Volpe, leader of the Thieves' Guild; and _Madonna_ Solari, owner of the Rosa in Fiore brothel—he quickly found that being a one-man army was too strenuous even for an ambitious man as himself.

Machiavelli, now 31 years old, preferred to work independently; but in times like these, he desperately needed Ezio's support. Even though he often clashed with him on many issues—such as Ezio's decision to spare Rodrigo Borgia's life—he knew that the Assassin Order would not have succeeded in their goals without Ezio Auditore's intervention. Ezio should be here, helping him piece together their fragmented Brotherhood—but where had he gone?

"It seems Cesare is wasting no time in capturing _Romagna._" Fabio said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "He is already in talks with his generals to lead his army into the region." He clenched his jaw in anger. "Meanwhile, Roma sinks lower into poverty and decay."

The master assassin shook his head in displeasure. "I'm not surprised. His inexhaustible hunger for power drives him—he will not let anything hinder him from his conquests." A spark of hope lit up inside him. "At least we have the Apple."

The two men drifted into silence, until Machiavelli raised his head, as if he had just remembered something important.

"Any news about the _Contessa_? I wonder if she has returned to _Forlì_…"

Fabio disclosed that he has not heard anything about Caterina Sforza, the Countess of _Forlì_ and _Imola_. He observed the look of concern on Machiavelli's tired face. Unable to provide any more useful information, he reverted to being just a caring friend to his ally: "You should get some sleep, Niccolò."

"You're right," Machiavelli muttered, standing from his chair, "I still have much to do tomorrow."

Sleep overcame him the moment he laid his fatigued body on his bed. His dreams were so vivid that night—he finds Ezio on a dirt road somewhere between Roma and Monterigionni, passed out next to his dead horse; Claudia takes charge of Rosa in Fiore; Bartolomeo screams bloody murder at the French General; and when he wakes up from his dream, he finds himself on La Volpe's bed, staring into those violet eyes.

**Author Notes:** The Italian words used in this chapter (indicated in italics) are standard in the AC universe. If they are unfamiliar to you, just google 'em. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Machiavelli's luck was beginning to turn for the better.

Seeing Ezio again was a most pleasant sight. Granted, he would have preferred to see him in better physical condition than he was now: he laid on his back, unconscious; his body was severely battered and tarnished with dirt; his clothes appeared as if they had been mangled by a wild animal.

Thank god he is alive, Machiavelli remembered telling himself as he instructed some of his hired mercenaries to transport Ezio's unmoving form to Margherita dei Campi's house. He would leave Ezio in the countess' care until he was conscious enough to get up and walk. It would be better this way; at least he would have enough time figure out a way to explain to Ezio the current disarray of Roma—without putting the blame on him.

After passing his instructions to the countess and handing her a small pouch of coins to cover any expenses, the Head assassin went on his way to finish his other duties. On that day, the smile on his face was more evident than it had ever been.

* * *

In the easternmost tail of the Antico District, a hooded man on a horse zigzagged through rows of people, leaving a trail of dust behind as he raced his way back to the Thieves' Guild. He had just returned from a rather unpleasant altercation with a group of Borgia guards who viciously attacked his younger thieves. It could have been avoided, had they not unwisely attempted to loot the guards in clear sight. However, a good leader must empower, not punish, his followers. Being the good leader that he was, La Volpe chose to forgive the novices for their mistake and encouraged them to learn from it.

He brought his horse to a steady halt as he reached the top of the hill. As soon as his feet landed back on the ground, one of his thieves was already by his side patiently waiting for his attention.

"What is it, Giorgio?" La Volpe asked, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

"_Maestro_ Machiavelli requested that I deliver this to you."

The thief pushed forward a sealed letter bearing the insignia of the Order. La Volpe held the parchment in his hand, flipping it back and forth, and chuckled under his breath. Machiavelli loved writing; he hated reading.

"Diplomats are a stubborn lot, are they not?" La Volpe mused wittingly as he ripped the sealed parchment into several pieces and handing them back to the bewildered thief. "I hope you have better news to share with me."

"Uh, sì," the thief said as he stuffed the scraps of paper into one of his pockets, "the architect is here to see you about the re-modelling plans."

"_Molto bene_."

La Volpe paused in mid-stride.

"If Machiavelli gives you more of his infernal letters, burn them."

* * *

Before leaving the hideout for the _Mausoleo di Augusto_ to meet Ezio, Machiavelli checked the pigeon coop for any notes that may have arrived. There was a short message from Pantasilea, which contained a brief summary of their recent troubles with the French army. He quickly moved on to another note he found; this one belonged to one of his contacts within the Castello: CESARE LEAVES FOR ROMAGNIA TOMORROW MORNING. This meant Fabio will no doubt be gone by tomorrow as well—another ally succumbed to Cesare's iron fist.

He searched the coop one last time. Unsurprisingly, La Volpe's note was nowhere to be found. _Of course La Volpe wouldn't spare me even a few words of acknowledgement; that would be such an inconvenience for him!_ Machiavelli reminded his foolish self to cease giving the thief the benefit of the doubt because nothing will ever come out of it-nothing but disappointment. It was embarrassing enough to keep waiting on La Volpe's reply like a hopeless lover would.

The morning sun had already reached halfway up the sky. It was time to go.

* * *

It didn't take long for Ezio to find Machiavelli standing patiently by the balcony, gazing into the horizon, his back facing Ezio. His clothes were much different; he was used to seeing him in his long dark-blue robe. Despite the change in appearance, Ezio found little trouble in identifying his friend in the crowded plaza.

"Ezio!" Machiavelli exclaimed, feigning surprise upon seeing his friend. "I did not expect to see you here."

The white-robed assassin tilted his head slightly in confusion. "I thought you had sent for me?"

"Never. We thought you were dead."

"Not yet." Ezio held his fist up proudly. "I am still very much alive."

The pair began to move away from the growing crowd, with Machiavelli leading both of them closer to the innermost part of the Centro District. As they walked together, the Head assassin brought Ezio up-to-date with what had happened in _Roma_ during his absence.

In between his diatribe about the Borgias, he managed to slip a few words concerning Ezio's uncle, Mario Auditore. "I am sorry for your loss, Ezio."

The other assassin nodded in affirmation, though he withdrew in silence and became somewhat distant; it still pained him to have lost another family member and a home he had grown fond of. Not wanting to dwell on the subject further, Ezio diverted their discussion elsewhere.

"I hope this sudden change of role has not worn you out yet. I imagine being the head of our Order can be challenging."

Machiavelli could only smile in irony. _If only you were in my shoes..._

"Let's just say I'm glad to have you back."

They stopped by a blacksmith's shop to purchase some armor and weaponry for Ezio. Afterwards, they crossing through various happenings within the busy District. Ezio, for the most part, was appalled by the state in which the city had deteriorated into: beggars were littered throughout the streets, numerous shops were closed, and Borgia guards marched everywhere he looked.

"You can thank the Borgias for the wonderful work they have done for this once-great city." Machiavelli said, sarcastically. They stopped at a junction where a tall and imposing tower stood before from them.

Machiavelli swept his arm outwards, as if he was presenting Ezio with a masterful painting done by Leonardo da Vinci. "Observe the method in which they oppress the people: by setting up bases around the city, they maintain complete control of every district."

"Niccolò, you are not endorsing Cesare, are you?"

"What are you insinuating, Ezio?" Machiavelli retorted, annoyed by Ezio's poorly timed joke. "This is the reality of _Roma_ today—which would have easily been avoided had you killed Rodrigo Borgia."

"Killing Rodrigo would not have solved anything—you and I both know that," Ezio said in defense. "The only way to stop the Borgias' oppression is to empower the people of this city."

Machiavelli scoffed at Ezio's suggestion. "You would be better off begging for the sun not to rise than to rely on the public."

"When did you become so cynical?" Ezio questioned passively as he brushed him aside. Ignoring Machiavelli's protests, he strode freely across the street towards the entrance of the Borgia stronghold.

Within half an hour or so, a large explosion erupted from the top or the tower, startling the passing citizens and guards. Flames and dark smoke continue to fill the clear sky. The white-robed assassin emerged from the chaos he had created and strode casually towards his ally. Machiavelli did his best to hold back his astonishment, but even Ezio could see it square in his face.

"It seems we can now make use of the stables here." Machiavelli said, walking towards the fenced area where the horses were kept.

"Where are we going?" Ezio asked, as they rode their horses past the Pantheon.

"I am meeting a contact at the Collosseo; I may need your help."

Both assassins were sidetracked as a lowly thief managed to swipe Ezio's pouch money from his possession.

"There goes one of your people," Machiavelli snickered at Ezio's expense. "Go and get our money back."

In an instant, Ezio charged his horse in the direction where the thief had escaped to. He was impressed at how the thief managed to run circles around him a couple of times. However, Ezio was a much tougher opponent to outsmart; he had backed his prey to a corner and recovered the money without further incident. The thief, fearing for his life, ran as fast he could away from the assassin.

Having succeeded in his mission, Ezio turned his horse around and searched for Machiavelli.

* * *

The contact was of little help; he failed to intercept the letter as planned, leaving Ezio to chase the courier himself. To make matters more difficult, the letter was encrypted—not decoded—much to Machiavelli's displeasure.

Ezio remained optimistic. He told his disheartened friend that it will take more than logic to bring down their enemies. Strong allies are what they needed; Ezio requested that he be brought to them.

"We have recently been making use of the underground tunnels to move quickly without being detected." Machiavelli said, swinging the tunnel entrance's steel gate open.

The entrance was cramped and both men had to stoop slightly to set foot inside. Ten minutes into their travel, Ezio found out how uncomfortable this mode of transportation was. Though it lacked any sense of comfort, it did send them to their destination in a relatively short time.

"Where are we?" Ezio asked, his eyes wandering around the stone walls and the high ceiling.

"_La Isola Tiberina_. This is where our Brotherhood will assemble."

When they entered the main hall, Fabio Orsini was already present, as if he had been expecting them.

"_Buona sera_, Niccolò." He immediately turned to the white-robed assassin that accompanied him. "A pleasure to meet you, Ezio Auditore. My cousin, Bartolomeo, have said great things about you."

The three men engaged in casual conversations for a moment before Fabio respectfully excused himself.

"I must leave in preparation for _Romagna_ tomorrow. Today, Cesare commands my men but soon we hope to be free."

When the heavily-armored man left, Machiavelli wasted no time in setting his agenda on the table. He proposed that they prepare their attack on the Borgias at once; his proposal was resisted by Ezio's dubiety.

"If you are so certain of our readiness to fight, then you probably know where they kept Caterina Sforza."

Dumbfounded by this statement, Machiavelli sharply looked over his shoulder towards Ezio. "What?"

The white-robed assassin paced around him, gauging his reaction.

"I suppose you were also not aware that the Apple has been stolen from us."

"How could we have lost the Apple?" Machiavelli cried out in distress as he confronted Ezio, his hands held out before him.

"It seems you do not know what goes on with our enemy." Ezio regarded him briefly, ignoring his outburst. "Do we at least have an underground to work with?"

"Hardly," Machiavelli said bitterly. "Our mercenaries are failing to hold back the French and Cesare's army, the madam at the brothel is lazy, and thieves in this city refuse to help." His mind strayed back to thoughts of La Volpe and his complete indifference towards him; it made him feel sick again.

Lost in his contemplation, he did not notice Ezio moving towards the exit.

"What are you going to do?" Machiavelli called out to him.

"Make some friends."

* * *

Machiavelli was sitting in his study, wondering if he should write another appeal to La Volpe. This had been his routine since he came to _Roma_: rise in the morning, work in the afternoon, and write letters to a ghost who would never write back to him. Tonight, however, he would choose to put his quill pen down and clear his desk of any papers.

If he cannot get through to La Volpe, then Ezio most certainly will.

The flame emitting from the one lonely candle on his table fluttered against the cool crisp air. The window on his right was wide open; he could not recall opening it. He stood up from his chair and sauntered towards the window. Instead of shutting them right away, he hesitated, then bent over the windowsill and surveyed the nearby rooftops. No one was to be found.

_My tired mind is playing tricks with me_, Machiavelli thought as he finally shut the windows, cutting off the cold night air.

As he drifted into peaceful slumber, La Volpe's voice echoed faintly in his ear.

* * *

**Author Notes:** Thank you to those who reviewed the first chapter! I hope you enjoyed this one as well (I know it is much longer and wordier than the previous chapter). On my next update, Machiavelli and La Volpe finally see eye-to-eye with each other, though not a very happy reunion.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Ezio had a lot of catching up to do.

After leaving _Isola Tiberina_, Ezio's first priority was to pay a visit to the Thieves' Guild. It wasn't that the _Rosa in Fiore_ and the Mercenaries' Guild were of less concern to him; the Order relied on their support as well. But the refusal of one major ally to participate worried him greatly, especially when Machiavelli shed very little light on that particular issue; Ezio needed to understand why this had happened.

On his arrival to the Thieves's Guild, he had expected to meet the man in charge of the Guild's activities. To his utmost surprise, it turned out to be La Volpe; the legendary thief of _Firenze_ had transplanted himself to _Roma_ and became the leader of the city's thieves.

He and La Volpe had not crossed paths since they had worked together in _Firenze_ a few years ago. La Volpe was bound to have engaged in his own exploits during their separation; Ezio was intrigued but now was not the time to discuss such frivolous matters.

"Machiavelli informed me that your Guild refused to collaborate with our Order." Ezio introduced the issue as straightforwardly as he could to the older assassin.

"Is that what he told you?" La Volpe repeated. He was casually wiping the old splotches of blood from his knife. "If so, he has greatly misunderstood."

He carried on as Ezio gave no response and merely listened.

"Machiavelli often shows up uninvited." La Volpe scoured at the same persistent stain. "Once, I had one of my people fetch some water for him as soon as he left—I was afraid the poor fool might die on his way back to the island."

"I suppose you and he did not come to an agreement."

The thief chuckled, amused at Ezio's wishful thinking. "Actually, I watched him come and go from my rooftop."

The other assassin, however, was unimpressed by La Volpe's statement. "You led him to believe you were not here?"

La Volpe quickly dismissed him. "Ezio, I have no desire to entertain someone like him."

Ezio was slowly beginning to unravel the mystery behind the two perpetually opposing assassins. "What has Machiavelli done now?"

"He is conspiring against our Order."

Ezio barely gasped at the notion. The ambassador-turned-assassin was often denounced for his unpopular philosophy-often favoring utility over morality. As a reaction, other members in their Order have repeatedly questioned his loyalty. But through all ten years he had been acquainted with Machiavelli, the younger assassin never once sided with the enemy-that is, no proof of such a betrayal ever surfaced.

Still, Ezio was compelled to dig further-any suspicion concerning the members of the Brotherhood was always a serious matter.

"A strong allegation coming from a thief. What proof do you have?"

"He was an ambassador to the Papal Court and travelled as a personal guest of Cesare himself," La Volpe said in disgust.

"He did all of those things for us; his work as an envoy allowed him to do so."

"I also know he abandoned you right before the villa attack", La Volpe added.

"Pure coincidence."

"I am not convinced."

One of Volpe's thieves slipped quietly to his side and murmured something to his ear. He left as soon as his master dismissed him.

He looked at Ezio again.

"If you insist on holding him in such high regard, I suggest you meet me at the _trastevere_." La Volpe was more or less goading his companion. "It might enlighten you."

* * *

By the time Ezio perched himself on the top of a debilitated building, he found La Volpe standing there, looking down at something below the ledge. Ezio realized it was a small gathering of Borgia guards…and Machiavelli. The Head assassin came into view, seemingly unconcerned as he made contact with one of the guards. He was furtive and deliberate as he took a sealed envelope from the guard and left the area quietly.

La Volpe was pointing down at the scene playing before them. "What do you make of that?"

Before Ezio could answer, a group of thieves charged towards the guards and violence between the two parties ensued.

"Volpe!" cried one of the thieves standing on an adjacent rooftop, "my son Claudio has been injured!"

La Volpe turned to Ezio and commanded him to protect the injured young thief. "I will take care of the other guards!"

Swiftly, the two assassins leaped into the air, killing one or two guards with their weapons as they hit the ground. Ezio was immediately by Claudio's side, fending off the guards that had surrounded the young boy. The master thief eliminated his enemies one by one with little difficulty, his clothes barely catching any of the blood spilled by his knife.

With his way completely cleared, La Volpe ran towards the direction where Machiavelli had escaped. He knew that he should be meeting up with Ezio, rather than chasing down the Head assassin (who most likely would have been gone by now). His blood was boiling-he would do anything just to get his hands around Machiavelli's throat and wring him to death.

La Volpe could have ran indefinitely-his legs were built for that very purpose; but his pursuit was becoming futile. Every street corner he turned to bore no signs of Machiavelli and was straying him further from Ezio and his thieves. His temper eventually subsided and his senses returned. _Looks like the traitor gets to live one more day_, he thought as he retraced his steps back to the _trastevere_.

Ezio did not look too happy when La Volpe finally reappeared; he and La Volpe's thieves had been waiting too long for him. La Volpe offered them no excuses; rather, he felt no obligation to explain himself to any of them. He gestured for his men to gather around him.

"Next time, lay low and avoid any confrontation", La Volpe instructed, referring to Machiavelli. "We will deal with him ourselves." He then made eye contact with Ezio briefly, though the white-robed assassin seemed reluctant to agree with his suggestion.

After a short debriefing, the thieves scuttled off to take cover from the Borgia guards searching for them. Now that they were alone once more, Ezio shared his thoughts on the Head assassin's alleged 'betrayal'.

"Volpe, I know what we saw back there, but you have nothing to fear from Machiavelli."

_How predictable_, La Volpe thought. Ezio was biased. Of course he is going to defend him. He and Machiavelli had a symbiotic relationship; one provided the knowledge while the other provided the manpower. Neither one could function without the other. Machiavelli was a chess piece he was not willing to sacrifice readily.

Maybe Ezio was right; he probably understood Machiavelli more than La Volpe ever did. Even if he could never trust Machiavelli again, he should at least maintain his confidence in Ezio—the last surviving Auditore had never let him down.

La Volpe conceded. "If you believe he is innocent, I trust you."

"_Bene_."

"Now that we are working together again, I was hoping you could assist me in renovating my Guild."

* * *

Ezio did not disappoint. Within three weeks, work in rebuilding the Thieves' Guild, Mercenaries' Guild, and the _Rosa in Fiore _had progressed substantially. Such enormous work came at an immense price, both in money and labour. Luckily, Ezio had picked up private contracts around the city (funny how murder never goes out of style, even in poverty), accumulating enough coins to pay the cost of the renovations twice over.

The following month, the Assassin Order (and Claudia) had gathered at _Isola Tiberina_ to amalgamate their findings. Machiavelli and his allies waited patiently for Ezio; for some inexplicable reason, he was running late.

Bartolomeo, the burly-looking mercenary leader, tried to break the monotony of their current predicament by engaging the others in discussion about their 'tardy' friend.

"That _coglione_ sure is taking his time," he said. The others chuckled, all too familiar with his vulgar yet warm-hearted way of referring to his friends.

"I have no complaints," La Volpe commented, dropping his two cents into the pot. "Right now, he is the pillar that holds our Brotherhood together."

Bartolomeo nodded his head in complete agreement with the thief. To his right was Machiavelli, who had been observing the conversation closely. Something in the way La Volpe made that comment piqued him. In deliberate fashion, he veered the attention towards Ezio's younger sister, Claudia. She had her hands firmly planted on her hips, fixated at a blank canvas sitting miserably at the far corner of the gallery.

"You have taken a big step in coming here today, Claudia; Ezio must be really proud of you." Machiavelli said, startling the woman slightly as she had not expected him to address her.

In response, Claudia pouted her lips to one side, her eyes lowered, and raised an eyebrow.

"If only that were true. It seems that no matter what I do, I will always be depreciated by him."

"Even so, I know he cares greatly for you."

"He sure has a funny way of showing it."

"So, what have you been up to, Machiavelli?" Bartolomeo asked casually. "Other than work, that is."

The Head assassin parted his lips, as if to speak, and unconsciously glanced at La Volpe from across the floor, only to find the thief staring back at him.

.

..

...

...

_"You should not work too much, Niccolò." La Volpe said. "Enjoy your youth while you still have it."_

_The young assassin lifted his head from his book with an unapologetic smile on his face. "I could not imagine a better way to spend my afternoon than reading Aristotle's Politics."_

_Such a peculiar young man. La Volpe had never imagined him to be this determined, ambitious, and __boring__. He scratched the back of his head. "You must have a life outside of work, carissimo."_

_Niccolò restored his attention back to his book, as if La Volpe was not there standing next to him. "My work is my life." _

_"Well," La Volpe sighed, uncrossing his arms. "I shall see you tomorrow."_

_"You're not coming to the meeting today?" Niccolò asked, looking up at the thief with a worried look on his face. _

_La Volpe bit his lower lip and shook his head regrettably. "I will make it up to you." _

_Niccolò shut his book entirely, facing away from the other assassin, sulking to himself. Feeling guilty, La Volpe opened his arms, prompting the younger assassin to rise from the stone bench to embrace him; the thief pressed him close to his chest and planted a friendly kiss on his left cheek._

_"Ciao, carissimo", he whispered to Niccolò, before releasing him._

_..._

_..._

_.._

_._

"_Ehi!_"

It was the snap of Bartolomeo's fingers, right on his shoulder, that woke Machiavelli from his daydream.

Machiavelli blinked a few times, momentarily dazed. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"

The mercenary leader crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side, baffled by Machiavelli's uncharacteristic behavior-he was usually vigilant and responsive.

Conscious of himself, Machiavelli stole a glance at La Volpe. The thief was no longer making eye contact with him; rather, he and the others were watching Ezio enter the room through the archway. The white-robed assassin was beaming from ear to ear.

"It is good to see all of my friends together once again."

By sundown, Ezio concluded the meeting and parted ways with his allies. The following week would be a pivotal event for all of them; it could mean the end of the Borgia's rule over _Italia_. In preparation for the coming attack at the _Castello_, Claudia and Bartolomeo returned to their respective homes to organize their groups. Meanwhile, Machiavelli, contrary to his initial plan, trailed behind La Volpe as the thief exited the hideout

"La Volpe!"

The hooded assassin ignored his call and continued to pass through the crowd of people.

"Gilberto!" Machiavelli shouted even louder, despite being only an arm's length away from the other man.

This time, La Volpe halted and sharply turned to meet his pursuer, their faces inches away from each other. The older man dug his right index finger critically into the other's chest.

"Do not call me by that name," he snapped, his eyes throwing daggers at Machiavelli.

This did not seem to discourage the Head assassin from confronting his accomplice, maintaining locking eyes with the thief without blinking. "Then you should stop ignoring me and start explaining yourself."

La Volpe guffawed, startling even some of the people positioned several meters away from them. It was unexpected and wholly inappropriate; he obviously did not care how extremely insulted Machiavelli had felt, being spoken to publicly in such a manner.

"My god, where do you get the nerve to say such arrogant things?"

"Excuse me?" Machiavelli felt his patience growing thinner; La Volpe was definitely pushing him over the edge. "I am tired of these games, Volpe. If you have a problem with me, then say it."

"_Carissimo_" La Volpe said in mocked endearment, "you are the problem."

His condescending tone was absolutely grating, but Machiavelli would not allow himself to lose his composure. "Please elaborate."

Wearily, the thief heaved a sigh. He dreaded having to spend a minute of his time conversing with Machiavelli.

"You appointed yourself leader of the Order without a proper election and expect me to bend to your will."

Machiavelli knitted his brows in puzzlement.

"Mario's death was an untimely one; I had to rise to the occasion." He crossed his arms confidently. "But if a proper election is what you want, then that can be arranged."

La Volpe narrowed his eyes at his most insufferable colleague. The diplomat was provoking him to say something back-a rebuttal-but La Volpe wanted nothing of it. Machiavelli made a living debating with other people; arguing with him was pointless.

"Now then," the Head assassin folded his arms behind him, "can I depend on your full support?"

"The Brotherhood will always have my support," La Volpe stated curtly. "But a fair election must transpire before I can do the same for you."

"You cannot treat me separately from the others," Machiavelli protested in outrage. "I am a part of this Brotherhood-just as you, Ezio, and Bartolomeo are!"

La Volpe brought his hand to his mouth as he yawned brazenly. "It is getting late and you are boring me." He motioned for his horse to inch forward before mounting it. "If you don't mind, I have more interesting conquests to pursue." He pulled the reigns sharply, forcing his horse to face the other direction.

"Volpe! We are not finished yet!"

His cry went unheeded as La Volpe sped away with his horse, leaving Machiavelli to count the days until he could catch a glimpse of the elusive fox again.

* * *

_Niccolò had done this many times before-he was practically a virtuoso when it came to public performances. He was standing in the darkness, save for the thin gap between the heavy, burgundy curtains. The clutter of noise from the other side of the curtains was unceasing. His presence on the stage was long-awaited. _

_The curtains parted and the theatre grew quiet. Niccolò took two steps forward until he was in full view of row of candles arranged in the front of the stage illuminated the young poet. He relaxed his shoulders and began to recite..._

_In the sea of unfamiliar faces, his eyes caught sight of La Volpe, dressed in his usual umber-tinged attire. The thief was seated to the right, just two rows away from the stage; his violet eyes distinguishable even in the dark ambiance of the theatre._

_Niccolò's fingers tightened; he suddenly felt nervous. His mind and body seemed to have disjointed from each other. His mouth was moving on its own accord; he was not sure if it the words being vocalized was his own, but his performance remained as flawless as any of the people in the audience could expect from him. _

_Niccolò had a talent that none of his peers could even dream of having. He could operate the audience's emotions with every turn of his speech: coerced them into laughter, pushed them into tears, or simply halted them into silence._

_To drive someone to complete madness solely by looking at them... it was an idea that Niccolò could not even comprehend-and yet La Volpe was a true master of this. He was watching Niccolò, just like anyone else who was present that night. But to the young poet, his gaze alone felt like a thousand eyes focused on him, magnifying every move he made, every words he enunciated, and every thought that swirled in his anxious mind. _

_The thief held his heart firmly in his hand and was loathed to relinquish it._

_The last stanza of his poem finally ended. There was a transient pause before the audience erupted into a loud pandemonium: they stood from their seats and showered the promising young poet with all their love. _

_Niccolò looked down the aisle below him. La Volpe was nowhere to be found. His seat was empty._

_The audience behind him continued their applause even as Niccolò exited the stage, disheartened. He returned swiftly to his dressing room, desperate to find solace there. He opened the door and to his astonishment, La Volpe was standing right in front of him, a bouquet of flowers in his extended hand. _

_"You performed excellently, carissimo. I am proud of you."_

_The gesture was too much, even for a flatterer like Niccolò-but it was everything he had hoped for. _

Translations:

Ehi! - Hey!

Carissimo - (my) dear

**Author Notes: **I apologize for the lack of update this past month. I had just started my new job and getting familiar with the city that I just moved in. Please do not hesitate to share your thoughts/opinions regarding the story so far-reviews are always welcome! Ciao!


End file.
